


the only heaven

by Can_i_get_a_ladies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley are made of Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Fall, and from love, and tender, and they are love!!!, everything about it is a love story, its just, lots of emo stuff about love and becoming the one you love, soft, that is all I have to give
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Can_i_get_a_ladies/pseuds/Can_i_get_a_ladies
Summary: {God saw them meet again on the walls around Eden, and She thought, well, why not one more experiment.And then She stopped watching.}Look, I know 'Take Me to Church' is wildly basic but... it is truly and perfectly just about Them.





	the only heaven

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for a note on pronoun use.

In the beginning, there was God.

 

And God was having a rather productive day.

 

God had made the earth and the land and sea and the sun and stars and realized quickly that  
She was going to need some help with all of it, at least, if She wanted a day off here and there.

 

And so, God created the angels and, to be perfectly honest, got a bit carried away. They were the perfect children, the perfect beings, the perfect soldiers, the perfect experiment for all God wanted to try out. She made angels of all sorts, with different forms and talents and positions.

 

In a fit of what She thought to be a rather genius and particularly new idea, she created Them.

 

They existed as two forms, but They were of one Grace. God made Them to see the result of an unbreakable bond between two beings, of a specific Love for another, a part and yet outside of the love for All.

 

God watched Them and found Them to be one of Her most interesting creations yet. They differentiated, sharing in everything and yet complementing each other, forming and folding around each other as if in an effort to enter into the being of the other.

 

Sometimes God listened when They spoke to each other and heard declarations of love so simple and benign She would not have known the meaning of the words if She had not created them Herself. Everything They said was an “I love you,” as was every action and touch. God found however, increasingly and disturbingly, that the love between Them was becoming more important than their love of Her, more significant than their love of the Earth and the hosts of Heaven.

 

She saw, though, when she peered closer, that it was only one of Them within whom this balance had been upset. The other yet remained pure.

 

And, in Her agony at the betrayal of Lucifer and his followers, in the process of sending them below, of watching them Fall, she tipped him over the edge, too. The other remained, because he wanted to, desperately. He was too terrified of losing Her to follow after the one he loved.

 

And so, they were no longer Them. God, in an act of characteristic mercy, took their memories of each other and sent Aziraphale, the angel who had remained, to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden. Heaven did not seem the place for him any longer.

 

God saw them meet again on the walls around Eden, and She thought, well, why not one more experiment.

 

And then She stopped watching.

 

*

 

Aziraphale held tightly onto the slightly charred slip of paper the entire bus ride back to London. Crowley had his head resting against the window, somehow asleep despite the steady vibration of the glass against his face that Aziraphale could hear like a distant bee’s hum.

 

It hadn’t taken them very long to figure out what the prophecy meant for them to do, and even less time for them to agree to it. Aziraphale tried and failed to stop himself from hoping that the whole ordeal may soon be truly and definitively over.

 

He works a tiny miracle to have the bus driver drop them at Crowley’s flat, and makes sure the bus miraculously still makes all its stops back in Oxford on time by way of apology.

 

Crowley had woken the minute they pulled up in front of his building and hadn’t said a word about the bus route or Aziraphale following behind him into the flat.

 

“Shall we do it in the morning, then?” Aziraphale asks once it becomes apparent Crowley isn’t going to say anything.

 

Crowley nods and hums his approval, making his way through the flat as if he is looking for something. Whatever it is, he mustn’t find it, because he returns to the living room and finally faces Aziraphale, really looking at him. “So, you’re staying, then?” he asks simply.

 

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies, the right answer this time.

 

“I’m going to sleep.”

 

Aziraphale expects him to saunter away into his bedroom, but instead he sits down heavily on the couch and makes a little gesture with his head, indicating Aziraphale should join him.

 

“I’ll watch over you,” he says.

 

Crowley scoffs at this, but it has none of his usual bite in it. “Whatever makes you comfortable, angel.” He lays down, curling his legs up under him, and is asleep before Aziraphale can make a witty reply.

 

Aziraphale remains true to his word, as always, and watches over him the whole night through. Though, ‘over’ may be a superfluous word in this context in that it issn’t so much about protection as it is about remarking upon the way the moonlight falls across Crowley’s cheekbone and marveling at the fact that they are both actually _here_ , true and whole.

 

Crowley awakes, all at once, not wasting anytime being groggy and soft in the morning light. Aziraphale finds himself inexplicably disappointed.

 

“Shall we?” Crowley says, holding out a hand.

 

Aziraphale starts to reach out but pauses before their fingers can touch. “You know we don’t actually know how to _do_ this. It’s not as if I’ve ever switched bodies with anyone before.”

 

Crowley gives him a look over the rim of his sunglasses. “I can’t see it being much different from any other miracle. Just think on what you want to happen, angel.”

 

He is about to protest further but Crowley grabs his hand and suddenly

all he can do is focus on holding on for dear life as their forms

shiver             and                  shift

into one another.

And

            Aziraphale cannot help but join his will to Crowley’s and just

                                    Give

                                                In

                                                            To it.

Why have they not done this before?

                                                                        Was that his thought or his?

Or was it Theirs?

            Angelic and demonic merging into one and for one single moment

                                    There is no separation

            For one

                        Terrifying

                                    Perfect

                                                Moment

            Aziraphale

                                    No

            Crowley

                                    No

They cannot remember which one of them they were

            Or are

                        Or will be

 

They pull their hands apart.

 

Aziraphale smells a strange mix of burning hair and sickly-sweet flowers in the air. His tongue tingles, and he realizes that it feels different in his mouth. In fact, his mouth feels different, too. He looks down and find he is wearing all black, and then looks up to see, well, himself sitting next to him on the couch.

 

Crowley sticks out his tongue, well, Aziraphale’s tongue, and then smacks his lips together as if trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth. “Well,” he says, with Aziraphale’s voice, “That was something.”

 

“I’d rather say so,” Aziraphale replies, shocked when Crowley’s voice comes out of his throat.

 

They stare at each other, or themselves, for a very long time without either saying a word. Aziraphale watches as Crowley stands and walks in a little circle. He pops his hip and leans to one side and then thinks better of it and stands up straight, instead, folding his hands over his stomach. Aziraphale rolls his shoulders back and shakes his arms, trying to get used to the longer, lankier limbs.

 

“Well,” Crowley finally says, breaking the silence. “I better pop over to the bookshop, er, at least where it used to be, in case they’re watching us.”

 

“Yes, we ought to throw them off the scent,” Aziraphale replies.

 

Crowley draws his eyebrows together and the corner of his mouth pulls into a little grimace, quite the strange expression on Aziraphale’s face. “Are you sure you can act like me, angel… _convincingly?_ ”

 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and stands, sauntering over to Crowley, moving his hips in a way he’s always thought to be rather unnecessary and probably hard on the joints. He miracles up a pair of sunglasses and slides them onto his nose. “Yes, I rather think I can.”

 

He fights the smile on his face, feeling inappropriately giddy at the thought of impersonating Crowley, despite the dire situation.

 

Crowley glowers at him. “Meet at St. James, then?” he says, primly. Aziraphale has to admit that he is quite good, too.

 

“Of course, angel.” He lets the last word slide off his tongue, and it comes out less sarcastic and ironic and a lot more tender than he intended.

 

Crowley just gives him a look, and then turns and leaves the flat without another word.

 

Aziraphale strides around the flat working on getting the walk just right, and then spends a few minutes staring into the mirror, experimenting with facial expressions. It’s surprisingly easy to get comfortable in Crowley’s skin, and the longer he practices the less it feels like he’s mocking him and more that he’s just falling into the natural mannerisms of this form.

 

It is only when he walks through the flat once more and picks up the plant mister thinking _oh, they haven’t been watered since before Ligur was a puddle on the floor_ and begins spraying the plants that he realizes there may be slightly more to this situation that a shift in atoms and shape.

 

Aziraphale finishes misting the plants and resists the inexplicable urge to scold them for a couple slightly drooping leaves. Alone in the flat, it is impossible for him to avoid confronting the rather unusual phenomena he has been feeling since the moment Crowley let go of his hand.

 

He feels heavy, like he’s being tugged downwards, which he supposes he should have expected being an angel wearing the form of a demon. He feels somehow bereft, as if there is something huge missing, like a hole in his chest, like an extra space in his body aching to be filled. He feels defiant and scared and he can’t tell if the fear is his own or someone else’s. He feels like he is home for the first time since before he can remember, but he feels as if he should remember this before, and he feels protected, safe. As if he is wrapped up in a warm blanket or a warm pair of arms.

 

He feels as if he is not quite himself, and not quite someone else, and also more whole than he can remember ever feeling.

 

He shakes his head and leaves the flat, and he doesn’t have to consciously sway his hips, they just seem to do so of their own accord.

 

*

 

The first thing Crowley notices, a feeling he had been ignoring while in Aziraphale’s presence, as he steps out of his flat and hails a cab is an ache, like being too full, close to bursting, of so much holiness of inhabiting Aziraphale’s form. He is surprised, however, that it doesn’t truly _hurt_ , and that there is also the strongest feeling of protection, of someone murmuring in his ear _nothing bad will happen to you here, I will shelter you_. He feels, also, something warm and overwhelming that he can’t quite name, like a word on the tip of his tongue, a name in the back of his brain.

 

He arrives and pays the cab driver and _thanks_ him, which he would never usually do, and as he walks into the bookshop his brain can’t decide which of two thoughts to settle on, arriving on a mixture of _not a smudge- this isn’t my collection- not a fallen candle in sight-_ “Those are new.”

 

He hurries out of the shop before he can start cataloguing and reorganizing the shelves.

 

*

 

The moment before Aziraphale steps into the tub of holy water, fear in the back of his mind that in this form he is _too much_ Crowley and he will still burn but knowing even so he would do it a thousand times over if there was even a chance it would save him, just as his toe is about to touch the surface, two thoughts crash into his mind, one his, and the other from somewhere entirely different.

 

_Crowley would have survived. We aren’t the same as them anymore._

_A warm touch around him inside him and they don’t have bodies and yet they can reach out and they don’t have mouths, per se, but they can kiss and embrace and it feels like a love that feels like a home that feels safe like protection._

 

*

 

The second before Crowley steps into the column of fire he worries about that ache of holiness but only because he hopes to never give Heaven the satisfaction of watching Aziraphale burn. Crowley would burn for him a hundred times over. As he is about to cross the threshold of flames something opens up in his mind, like Hell’s information drops but so saturated with love he can’t find it in himself to be aggravated by it. Then he realizes.

           

_The word on his tongue the name on his brain is Aziraphale is Aziraphale’s love for him becomes his love for Aziraphale becomes one love._

_A caress on his cheek a laugh in his ear a body around him inside him there is no separation They are two but they are One._

 

*

 

They clasp hands and their bodies return to their shape before the switch, but it doesn’t feel like falling back into the right form, it feels like simply switching into something equally right.

 

*

 

Sometimes, Aziraphale finds themselves in Crowley flat or finds Crowley in their bookshop and cannot remember a separation between being there and not being there or inviting and arriving.

 

They stride through the flat and smirk at the statue and think _it’s rather close to tea time_ and Crowley brings them a cup of tea and later they go to dinner and they think _white tonight, since we’re eating fish_ and after they’re done eating Crowley says “Home?” and it’s the first time either of them have spoken aloud to each other the whole day and yet they haven’t stopping conversing for a moment of it.

 

*

 

Once, they are leaving the bookshop to go to a rather charming Farmer’s market and Aziraphale slides into the driver’s seat of the Bentley and they drive with Crowley riding shotgun and neither of them realize anything is different until after they are coming home and they have switched back around.

 

Aziraphale doesn’t remember ever learning how to drive.

 

*

 

Once, Crowley sits in the armchair in the back room of the bookshop and picks up the book on the side table and begins to read where the bookmark is though they haven’t picked up a book since the invention of the television and they remember the threads of the plot though their eyes weren’t the ones that had read the words.

 

They don’t think anything of it until Aziraphale walks into the shop and they have sunglasses on, but they simply slowly take them off and slip them onto Crowley’s face and say nothing more about it.

 

*

 

Sometimes, when Aziraphale is in the shop all day, dealing with some customers and organizing the shelves, when Crowley comes in the late afternoon or the evening Aziraphale is startled for a moment because they had been talking to them all day because it felt as if they were there, or at least they had never been parted.

 

*

 

Sometimes, when Crowley sleeps, it feels as if there is an arm around their waist, a presence against their back, even though they are technically alone in their bed.

 

*

 

They rarely touch, because when Aziraphale brushes their fingers against Crowley’s in handing them a glass of wine or Crowley skims Aziraphale’s arm reaching over to get something out of the glove compartment it is simply too much for each of them to bear. When their skin touches they _remember things_ and it feels less like a memory and more like a _feeling_ and they agree, without words, or course, to just avoid it.

 

*

 

Aziraphale goes over to place a book on the shelf and they turn and say “Crowley?” but as soon as the name is out of their mouth their face changes in confusion. “No,” they say, “that’s me.”

 

Crowley looks at them and comes closer, but they are confused as well because they can’t remember. “I don’t think so,” they say.

 

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale comes closer, too.

 

“I don’t think it matters.”

 

“No, that’s not right, it does.”

 

“You’re right because-”

 

                                                “-because it’s just us.”

 

And they reach out and clasp hands and they

                                                                                                Remember

And they remember that they are not two they are not Crowley and Aziraphale they are not

            And angel

                        And

                                    A demon

They are simply Them.

                                                                                                One entity made in and of love.

 

*

 

Sometimes They wear different faces, but it doesn’t matter anymore. They usually wear the ones they had for those thousands of years, primarily out of habit, but They don’t actually feel particular allegiance. They are both, they are neither. There is no separation. They forget, often, which name to call each other by, because they don’t recall where one stops and another begins. Usually they call each other ‘my dear,’ and sometimes, when They feel rather soft, ‘my love.’

 

Never ‘angel’ anymore, because it’s not quite right for either of Them.

 

*

 

When They make love, it feels like the final fruition, the final act in their purpose, in their creation, because all of existence with simply Them coming back into each other, They who made Love in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, consider leaving a comment or reblogging on Tumblr (https://thislesbianlovesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/post/185825004787/the-only-heaven-fellowshipofthefandoms-good).
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Note on pronouns: I use they/them pronouns at the beginning and end of the fic, in heaven when they are created, before Crowley’s fall, and after their ‘executions.’ Both have specific meanings, in that they are genderless at the beginning and also one entity, so it is more correct to refer to them as a Them, always together, and at the end because they have come back into each other. In the middle, after the fall and throughout history, they are both identified as ‘he’ because they choose male forms on earth and are separated from each other.


End file.
